


No Sacrifice, no Victory

by GreyHood99



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9956912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyHood99/pseuds/GreyHood99
Summary: Shay reflects on his betrayal of the Colonial Assassin's Brotherhood





	

The Air is still, and I am a hunter. I take my last life for the rest of my career, I can't keep killing anymore, I just can't. For every assassin I slay, one more haunts me in my dreams. The ghosts of my former comrades whisper my death and condemnation. George Monroe cries for me to save him from the burning manor, I pull him out too late, just to hear the news of my failure to protect the manuscript. I agree to finish what I started, keeping the memory of him alive by wearing his cuffs, sash, undershirt, and ring. I keep the memory of my slain friend Liam O'Brien my keeping the sword and dagger he gave to me. It's disgustingly ironic that I trained with it to eventually have to use it to kill him. I ended the life of my own friend, I didn't really try. Just a step in the ice put a crack on the frozen platform we were on, and we both fell below, only I survived the fall. I swear to this day, that as I saw his spirit soar to heaven, that he gave me a look of hate. Adewale was right, as he suffocated and couldn't breath, my blade had found itself in his lung. "You've become a monster, Shay," his voice still haunts me. An old man, I slayed an old man armed only with a knife and hidden blade. One flick of my own blade killed Adewale, a legend among the assassins and a symbol of hope for the maroons, a symbol of light and admiration gone. Chevalier, a true arrogant prick, yet an icon and legend among naval captains, gone. I sent him down to the watery and icy grave that I should have joined. kesegowaase, the first native american assassin, a supporter and hero to his tribe gone. I shoved his own tomahawk against the native's throat, his price for delaying my efforts to save Monroe. I may have done awful things, kill my former comrades, end the lives of multiple fathers, especially that of poor Charles Dorian.

I saved humanity and prevented the planet from crumbling apart literally to dust. Humanity's survival and my chance to play a hand in it's survival came at a great price, my betrayal and the deaths of all I held dear. I killed many, often against my wishes, but to the further the goals of my new allegiance. I can still see their cries of pain, I rush to save them in my dreams, but then I realize that I'm the one inflicting the pain upon them. I see Mentor Achilles coil in pain, a hole deep in the knee of his leg, the product of Master Haytham Kenway's "mercy". I see my former love, Hope Jensen, take her last breath. I hold her hand, as she takes her next journey to the other side, to oblivion. I never believed in a heaven, just a hell where I would burn or drown like I should have at Davenport Manor. I should have just made myself drown, not find the strength to keep going. If I had died, the manuscript would have never been found. The assassin's goals would be focused on protecting freedoms of the people, how fall the assassin's creed has fallen, now the supposedly abdominal templar order was the correct path. How did we fall so far?

After delivering that damn precursor box, to Master Kenway, I slump into the bar. Thomas Hickey is already drunk silly, failing miserably to seduce the married woman their. I move past him, he falls to the floor a drunken mess. I'm not here to talk to the dames, I owed Hope that much, if not her life back. I see the citizens of New York dancing drunk and happy, they have money to live the way with more than just warm bellies and cloths. 'Money is a means to an end.' I order whiskey from the bar tender, he lacks at me in pity, my eyes clearly wet from not just a dip in a lake. I open the bottle, the sweet taste of regret slithers and squirms down my throat. I am Shay Patrick Cormac, Templar of the American Rite. I am a drunkard and an abomination. I've become a monster, to ensure the safety and peace of the people. I'm beyond happy to see civilization still thriving towards progress, I look forward to driving those Redcoat lobsters back to England. For the well being of the people, I will always stand with the people, even if it means possible leaving the templar order. The people may never know my sacrifice, and that destroys me, but it doesn't really matter in the end. All that matters, is protecting those I care about. Master Kenway and civilization, those I hold dear, they're all I got left. I'm about to pass out from the dozen bottles I've opened and swigged through, I didn't use to drink this much, I blame my irish heritage. I make my own luck, I'll keep it together, the people must come first.

I've heard rumors of the return of the assassins, particularly in the form of the Grandmaster's son. Father versus son, I hope it'll never come to that, America is on the brink of civil war with the loyalists and the revolutionaries. It seems despite my best efforts, no matter what, there will always be death. All people die eventually, and I can't do shite about it. I should have realized this sooner, I should have stayed with the assassins, all people die, I should have just got over Lisbon. But I was weak, young and dumb at the time. My realization of death being inevitable was what led me here, to killing Charles Dorian so ruthlessly and coldly. Some can say that the Order influenced my decision, to kill Dorian, but I clearly know that killing Dorian wasn't what was asked of me. I was tasked with relieving the box from it's guardian, I could have spared Dorian and let the French Templars and Assassin's work it out. I know better, there will never be peace between the assassins and templars, or so I had thought. I did see his son Dorian, along side the daughter of a Templar Grandmaster. In that moment, I felt hope. In that moment, I saw to individuals at peace with each other, one that could be ruined if they were to grow up and learn that they were destined to kill each other. I thought of Hope, how only when I with the Assassin's did we feel complete together. Arno could grow up, learn of his heritage, and refuses to kill those who toke him in. Eventually, to make his father proud, I could see Arno lead the Assassins, and with Elise's help, the templars to peace. I've come to realize that for ever life saved, another must die as well. The happy lives of Boston and New York came at the price of the lives of those at Lisbon and the lives of the assassins and templars who died for this land. For our peace in this war, a sacrifice is necessary. No sacrifice, no victory. Charles Dorian had to die, a sacrifice for the chance to achieve true unity.


End file.
